Untouchable
by Desvendapur
Summary: Wikus, 15 months after the movie left off, is now the central focus of a meticulous private investigator who has never failed to find a missing person. As wits collide Wikus has to fight to hold onto the hope that he can last until Christopher's return.
1. Chapter 1: The Tracker

**Author Note: Feedback is much appreciated on all of my work. Thanks for reading! **

**Chapter 1 **

**The Tracker **

It was 10:00 PM on the fringes of the city of Durban in South Africa. A storm was forming off the coast, but towards the countryside it was beginning to get very quiet. Outside the large, port city it had become calm, for the time being.

On this final stretch there was an old, dilapidated building. Inside a private office sat a single man, Jarred Ndiaye, who was pulling a late shift. A meticulous individual in both person, and nature he worked on subjects involving the locating of _people_. Ndiaye knew people very well. Whether his jobs were locating drug gangs, weapon dealers, or even a random tourist who'd managed to run astray Ndiaye could find them. For a price, of course.

A single light bulb hovered above his head, a small desk fan blowing on his shaved head. Mildew was beginning to form on some of his office walls, and spiders constantly hovered in the corner. Ndiaye's lack of organizational skills had constantly plagued him, but thus far he hadn't met a secretary, or housemaid that fit his liking. Even though he had dedicated his life to studying the social interactions of humanity he still often found himself incapable of dealing with others. Because of this he tried to think of people as _lost_ and _accounted for_; never anything in-between. Such private tendencies also made him a lonely man, though he'd never admit to it.

His head tilted up as he heard the lock on his office door turn. A group of men were standing at his door in military garb. In the middle was a fair skinned white man of what Ndiaye believed to be British descent, his hair being red, but cut very short. What became obvious in his pose, and formal, yet relaxed pose, was that he was clearly the leader of the group.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jarred Ndiaye asked from behind his cluttered desk. Eyes widen as he noticed their currently shouldered weapons. "What are you doing here? I'm closed!"

Ndiaye's hand reached into his desk. Concealed within was a 44. Magnum revolver – just like the one Clint Eastwood used to have in those old _Dirty Harry_ movies, which Ndiaye had happened to love watching when growing up. In the current state of being he could never be too safe. His work had led to many arrests, so if anyone ever found out he was the private contractor who led to those arrests things could get ugly.

The leader of the column raised his hands in a peaceful gesture, but that didn't make Ndiaye lower his guard.

"Good evening to you too, Detective Ndiaye. I am Commander Thompson, representing the MNU. Do you mind if I take a seat here?" He gestured to four foldable steel chairs in the corner of the office.

The Commander had bravado to him, but not so much that it overpowered the detective. The aura of someone who was confident in talking to people, but whose features showed he was plenty capable of dealing with problems in _other _manners if necessary.

"Go ahead…" Ndiaye replied, his hand not leaving its hold around the powerful weapon. If the commander or his men tried anything at least the detective would get one shot; one that would easily puncture his feeble desk, knocking the supposed _commander_ out of his chair.

The commander pulled aside one of the foldable iron chairs, setting it in front of the detective's desk. He crossed his legs, right-over-left, and stared at Ndiaye in a pleasant, non-threatening manner. Ndiaye didn't like it. A smile was a very mysterious gesture of human nature for it had many potential meanings. Was it the grin of a friend or shark?

"Thank you ever so kindly for your hospitality Mister Ndiaye. Of course I'm not here to admire your furniture."

Mock sincerity did not reach Ndiaye in a positive manner.

"The company would like to ask of your assistance. Your skills as a detective have drawn quite a bit of attention to your name in the region. Enough to impress us all the way up at the top, and we would like to offer you a job."

The young black man leaned back in his chair, placing fingers to his chin. "As flattered as I am that you Americans can take not of a lowly native I have to say there are lots of missing people here in Africa. Your company is not the only group of potential clients I have available. What makes your case so much better than the others?"

"The MNU knows that you have a perfect track record in regards to _finding_ people. Surely you get bored with this. How do you feel you would fair with other game?" The British accent had a very charismatic tone that none could deny at least feeling inclined to listen to. "Get down and dirty in some of the more hard pressing areas of trouble. We want to challenge men of your nature; give them something they can really sink their teeth into. And make a large profit out of it."

"Okay, fine, Mister MNU. Tell me who it is you want me to find? Rebel leader? Thief? Present me with your case. EN-_lighten_ me, before I grow tired of this visit."

"You misunderstand me, Mister Ndiaye. We're after someone more than human, and our superiors think you're just the man to do it…" He paused giving the detective a long stare.

Silently Ndiaye spun a pencil between his fingers looking up a tad.

"You do of course know what I am referring to, Mister Ndiaye…?"

Tension was broken as Ndiaye began to laugh uncontrollably. "You want me to search for fook'in _prawn_? Do I look like lion tamer? I didn't notice I was carrying my whip today!"

Quickly he noticed that look of intensity was still present on the Commander's face. He swiftly returned to his normal, curt tone. "There nothing I can do for non-human detection. My assumptions and processes of work are based on human culture, motivation, and mindset. I have honed my skill on human conduct since a young age…These _prawn_- I haven't a clue what the fuck they are! I wouldn't know where to begin with them. Maybe your employer should keep a closer eye on them so as you don't have to come bothering locals every time you lose one of those things!"

"You haven't listened to my whole deal Ndiaye." A look of stern anger crossed the commander's face, but this time Ndiaye was no affected by it.

"What deal? You are here wasting my time!" Ndiaye waved him off. "It's too late, and I want to go to bed."

Casually the commander flicked his wrist, pointing towards the detective. The men behind the seated commander lifted a box, shoving it on the African detective's desk.

"Hey, what is this you are doing!" he shouted as many of his folders and evidence for his current cases was knocked off the desktop, carelessly tumbling to the ground.

"Take a look inside the box, Ndiaye. I think what you find will _interest_ you."

Grumbling to himself Ndiaye picked up a razor blade, easily cutting through the top of the box. "MNU, pah! You all just like shitting on all of us; like our time isn't valuable. You should also know that no means –"

He stopped himself, pulling a small model made from scrap from the box. It was shaped as a traditional, simplistic sailboat. A hull made from two Coke cans, a sail of reused fabric...Sitting on the side of the boat was two _clearly human_ figures constructed from aluminum foil. He also could make out that the figures were sloppy to a degree due to a creator's apparently large hands that would have made such a task difficult.

"What on earth is this?" he said, looking to the commander.

"I would say it's a boat." Was the reply, commander grinning in a smug sort of way.

"No! Where did you find this? What is the origin?" Ndiaye said, instantly running a hand through the rest of the box.

"District 10, my friend—hidden away out of sight; I only saw it because I…I'm what you would call an _enthusiast_ for my work." Another grin appeared this one more sinister than the previous expressions.

Ndiaye pulled out a copy of the New York Times, now wearing latex gloves on both hands in order to not contaminate anything. "How did this get so far out? Americans don't live near 10..."

"That would be your job, Ndiaye. We want you to take these things and put them together for us."

Ndiaye's hands didn't return to his gun. Instead his fingers interlocked as he went into a state of thought. _Why_ these things were in an alien group did intrigue him a great deal…but that would also require him to leave the city for field work. Never had he been much for travel, heat, or the wild in general. But he'd also never turned down a deal of this nature.

"What is this contract you offer me for this prawn?"

"A million in American dollars, just for your time," the commander said, grinning at Ndiaye's shocked expression. "Two more if you find this guy."

Bemused and exhilarated at the same time Ndiaye places his face in both hands giving a sigh from surprise, not of frustration. "When do we leave? Only a mad man would turn that down," he said with a laugh. "Next time you want me, mention the price first!"

"We leave right now if all possible…" He looked over and noticed a distressed look on Ndiaye's face. "Don't worry. You tell us what you need from home and we'll get it for you."

"No, no—I have my stuff here!" He said, really not wanting anyone to go around his house.

Quickly he shoved several sketch books, pencils, pens and other office supplies into a bag. His lucky sack had been with him back when he'd first done a field investigation, so it was natural that it should be taken again…also when they weren't looking he snuck in his revolver with a few extra rounds.

"A man of action in need of little supplies," laughed the Commander. "I hope you don't mind helicopters."

Nydia paused looking up in confusion. This made the commander laugh.

"What helicopter?"


	2. Chapter 2: Airborne

**Chapter 2**

**Airborne **

The Mil Mi-8 helicopter moved through the air over the scorched land of South Africa on its way to the MNU headquarters in Johannesburg. An attack 'copter that the MNU had acquired from the former Soviet Union the Mil Mi-8 that had originally been manufactured in 1979 was now greatly refurbished; fitted with all the necessities of a gunship, as well as those of a troop transport. Once more the Soviet craft took to the skies as a lethal weapon of war and efficient method of troop transportation.

None of this however was able to calm the frightened Ndiaye, who was situated in the back of the vehicle's cabin. His eyes would not dare venture towards the windows, nor would his hands stop shaking as they clung to his sack. Even after hours without sleep he couldn't feel the least bit tired while in this machine.

"I take it you've never rode one of these before?" One of the MNU soldiers sitting beside Ndiaye asked, throwing in a chuckle as he did so.

"No! I most certainly have not flown in one of these…mechanical _insects_ before!" He shouted. His eyes were staying clear from the windows. "This is not the way I travel! Car, bus, boat, truck, airplane—all of those are better than this!"

"Awwwww, come now, detective. The pilot is going out of his way to make this a smooth, pleasant ride for our little air-virgin," another soldier condescendingly stated.

"F-_FUCK_ you, MNU-man!"

"Sheesh, calm down, man!" Another soldier shouted.

Ndiaye enjoyed a supported environment – something he could understand. He could see the wheels of a car. He could see the bottom of a boat; the motor or sail that powered it. He could see a plane's wings, knew they would hold him up. Helicopter blades were not in his field of vision, and as such did not assure him of the safety of the vehicle.

In the distance the African sun was beginning to rise to the northern horizon. The portion of South Africa they now traveled over was mostly barren, forgotten land where only few, rugged individuals managed to live. It had always amazed the detective how you didn't have to travel very far to escape the hold of civilization. Of course at the moment he wasn't even taking note of it out of fear, and frustration over the constant harassment of the MNU veterans.

"Sorry about that, detective." The commander smiled in a reassuring fashion. "The men and I are just giving you the wrong impression. We did not mean to come across as such…Barbarians—in fact I never even divulged my name! How very rude of me!"

"Yes…rude…" Ndiaye said, not really paying attention to the commander's words. _Rude like your constant bantering, _he thought to himself.

"My name is Dorian. Commander Luke Dorian, MNU."

"Pleased to meet you, Commander Dorian, but would you mind telling me when it is we are going to be landing?"

"Hah! Always on business; I like it! Not long at all, Ndiaye. Why—look out your window! We're going over District 10 right now!"

The detective's fear momentarily dissolved in place of curiosity. He pressed his head to the window, looking over the scene. District 10 wasn't at all what he expected, but nothing that really surprised him either. Of course, there were things that caught his attention more so than other aspects.

Trash. That was the first thing that caught his attention. There was just a lot of trash within the District—as Ndiaye would expect of any slum. Still didn't mean that such filth wasn't an eye catcher. It was almost as if they aliens lived in a landfill!

Next there were the tents which seemed to go on in endless rows. He had seen them on the news back when the eviction of District 9 had taken place, but these were nothing at all like the ones he'd seen fifteen months prior to now. The tents he had seen were white. These ones were molding, yellow, and dilapidated. No sign of repair was to be seen on any of these structures.

And finally there were the aliens themselves, who from Ndiaye's view, seemed to wander aimlessly amidst the filth without life, or purpose. Not a place where he could imagine the can boat being created. In fact, he could imagine _any_ art being made in a place of this much…filth. That word is just the only one that he could associate to the place. _Filth_.

"Commander Dorian! How in the world do you find anything in that bog?" Ndiaye asked, finally turning away from the window. He was in investigation mode, and that helped distract him from his fear.

"You know, detective," Dorian seemed to be savoring his words, "if you spend enough time down there in the slime, and the filth, it almost becomes a sort of…_home_ away from home. A place where _everybody_ knows your name." He laughed with his final statement, but Ndiaye didn't get the joke. "I may be a new member to the MNU family, but I'm certainly a fucking celebrity down in the district!"

"And how was it that you got into this business, Commander Dorian?" Ndiaye inquired, interested by the commander's word choices.

"Oh there are lots of reasons…I suppose because of revenge."

"Revenge?"

"Yes, revenge," the Commander said, leaning back in his chair. "I had this friend who I met back in Cambodia in '83. His name was Venter. Koobus Venter. We shared some jobs and many good times. Killed a lot of men, pulled a lot of jobs, but mostly we just had fun. We were party machines, but at the same time everyone knew not to fuck with us! On top of the world is how we both felt back then."

Dorian sighed. "When security became an issue for MNU with the prawns they began to hire outside help. They approached both of us. I didn't want to get involved with no aliens, but Venter decided to take the deal no questions asked. Ol' Koobus was always up for something new, so I don't blame him for playing it safe with rebel groups to the north. At least they can't rip your limbs from their sockets with bare hand."

"What year was that?" Ndiaye was silently taking notes as the commander spoke. "I mean when you two separated."

"I would say it was 1988 was when we both got the offer. He didn't leave until 1989. Shortly after we saw a final movie at a local cinema… From then on out I occasionally would drop by, we'd get a drink, but never again did we get to work together, but God knows he tried to coerce me into staying."

"What ever happened to Venter?"

"He rose to the top in the MNU, but right when he was on top he as…_decimated._" The commander's face was blank, but his eyes showed he was in a deep flashback. "You'll probably remember the final days of District 9.

"Everyone and their mother-in-law saw _that_," Ndiaye said remembering the day quite clearly. Such a great loss of human life it was.

"Well, in short: Venter was leading the team within the District during the time that machine went rogue. All hell broke loose when the Nigerians pulled some bullshit attack that came out of nowhere, and then that machine came lose. People getting blown away left and right, but when it settled it was Venter who was left alone…the colossus taken down. Although he fought the most valiantly he met a worse fate than all whose lives had been taken within that hour by being torn the pieces and devoured by those…_monsters_!" Dorian was now scowling, his hands clenched into fists.

"But how did you get involved with the MNU, Commander?" Ndiaye asked, now very interested in the story. He didn't think back to the fact that his words were probably insensitive given the circumstance.

"Well, I came as soon as I got news. I stormed the headquarters that was still being repaired from when the whole thing went down and I asked to know who killed Venter. I pushed and shoved myself onto them until they showed me the footage…" He bit his lip. "I watched that security video so many times. How they simply tore his head from his body, desecrating his life. But I learned something from that video. By the end I remembered every last detail of the group of prawn that did it. Every mark, scratch, and groove of their fucking hides."

Dorian pulled his cap off to reveal short brown hair. "When it was time to move the prawn to District 10 I joined the MNU forces. I went into District 9. I found each of those bastards and I made sure they suffered."

"What did you do to them, commander?"

"I did it the way Venter and I used to get information out of government spies…I carry two tools for their suffering." Quickly he drew a small metal club that appeared as if it were a half-sized, steel baseball bat in his left hand. In the right he held a Beretta M9. "The club is mine. The pistol is Venter's…one of the few untarnished items that had been on his person we were able to recover.

"I started by finding the one who had taken my friend's head. One with the name Edward Long…I hate how the company gives monsters human names, but anyways: I found him. First I came to his shacks door as was protocol. Gently I wrap my knuckles against the sheet of metal that is his door." He recreated it by tapping his knuckles against the hull of the helicopter. "'Time to go!' I shout. Out he comes. Lord almighty the son of a bitch smelled bad. I tell him to get on his hands and knees. Of course he complies with so many soldiers around him, but I know that he is nothing more than a killer.

"His hands are behind his back and I make my move. I cuff him with those special prawn shackles. Of course he is surprised and gurgles that fucked up speech of theirs, asking what I was doing. Shit, don't know how we understand what they're saying—must be some sort of telepathic bullshit. That put aside, I didn't respond.

"The prawn didn't see the club coming as I smashed it against the side of his head."

Ndiaye nodded, not really disturbed by this given that he didn't even see the reason why the human race hadn't eliminated the prawn yet. He chose to let to commander go on with the story uninterrupted.

"So then the thing, tries to get on its feet, but I only bring down the club again. 'I have done nothing wrong!' it shouts, but I only slam my club to its mouth bits. I hear a crunch. See the blood dripping from its face as it falls to its back. The energy I feel coercing me onwards is almost orgasmic, for this is the first time I would kill a prawn…in fact it was the first time I killed in the name of revenge and not payment. Almost felt as if I were bringing Venter back from the dead by this act.

"'You have done wrong by me!' I scream in its face bleeding face. Shit, the prawns' very blood sickens me! Smell, look, feel—it's strange all around. 'What are you talking about!' it cries, but I only smash its head again. It is now that I draw my fallen comrade's Berretta, pushing its barrel deep into the thing's fucked up, bleeding jowls. 'You remember this!' I shout. 'Belonged to a friend of mine. Perhaps you remember it and the _face_ of the one who carried it.'

"Oh, he didn't like that gun in his mouth. He knew exactly whose gun it was and he knew exactly what he had done; the crime that would cost him his life. Those eyes of his widened in horror—a pleading look that I would not buy for a second. So with that I say 'It's a shame having to live in denial and guilt for your entire life.' With that I pulled the trigger."

A paused followed. The sheer brutality of such an act somewhat affected Ndiaye, but then he only reminded himself that these were _only prawn_. After all…it had killed a human hadn't it? That meant it was dangerous, so surely the commander acted justly.

For the next several minutes the commander sat there in silent thought. Ndiaye only wrote down notes on the incident on the off chance that they may prove useful during the case. What he needed now was every possible shred of information on the prawn there was to be had.

"You know…it's an interesting thing, the way prawn die. It's so similar to us. The way they just lay there, reflexes and nerves causing spasms for minutes to come." A cigarette was brought to the commander's lips, as well as a chrome-finished lighter. "So by the end of the day I had taken care of all the others in the same manner. From that day forward I would continue to work with the MNU and District 10."

Ndiaye only sat in amazement. "You are truly a savage, strong minded warrior, commander."

"I suppose you could say that about me, Ndiaye," Dorian replied, a cloud of smoke leaving his nostrils. "But I would prefer to think of myself as a _fair_ man. What goes around comes around, as they always used to say—until the term became a tired cliché." Suddenly the captain began to laugh, seeming to leave the tense atmosphere far behind him.

Outside on the horizon the city of Johannesburg could now be seen. MNU's headquarters was very easy to make out near the center of downtown. The remains of District 9 were still being cleared by bulldozer in the hopes of opening a new series of apartment complexes and shopping centers where the slum once resided. All the people of Johannesburg wanted to do was put the district far behind them.

"About damn time!" Dorian shouted. He looked to Ndiaye. "Are you as hungry as I am? I could eat a fucking elephant. You like deli food? We got this new little café down in MNU's headquarters that makes the best fucking sandwiches this side of the District. And their soup? _Heavenly_, to say the very least!"

Ndiaye was somewhat scared by the random nature of the topic change. "Oh, no please, Commander, I do not need any –"

"No! I _insist_." Dorian cried, giving Ndiaye a slap on the back. "You're gonna enjoy yourself hear, Mister Ndiaye. _Trust me._ In fact there's also this lovely little cinema down the street. I should treat you to a flick before any actual work begins."

"Commander, I enjoy my work and think that with the price your employer is paying me I should…"

"Bullshit!" Dorian grabbed Ndiaye's shoulder with a smile. "Come now, I have been rather rude to you. I've bored you with my life story, taken you from your city in the middle of the night—surely that's fucked your schedule up real good. At least I can provide you a few earthly pleasures before your temporary office is assigned."

"Fine…I suppose a bit of socializing won't hurt." Ndiaye's right hand nervously clenched to his left's wrist.

"Splendid!"

A single prawn watched the helicopter as it ran overhead. It was the same helicopter than had passed the camp the previous day, from what the _unique_ prawn could recall.

They could not recognize him –no doubt—but still he hid whenever they passed on by, either by air, or ground. It had become an instinctive reaction for the former human. Always was he in fear that they would somehow recognize him before Christopher's return and the promised transformation reversal. Each passing day it had felt as if the passing guards had been deliberately looking directly at _him_.

Still long treks by foot to Johannesburg were possible, but each day they became increasingly more difficult. Gifts he had consistently left for Tania and his children, but never could he directly communicate with them—not while there was still the chance of MNU wanting him dead. No doubt with the damage caused to their headquarters and the loss of the mothership would have lingering effects. It didn't matter so long as they didn't give up on him…

But now, with his hidden storage area defiled, he couldn't help but panic. Perhaps he was just thinking too much about it. Maybe his trapdoor hadn't been found and he was just being overcautious. Either way his personal articles he had managed to recover and keep close would easily link the MNU to his name.

When the vessel overhead was gone he reached down to pull open a small trapdoor. Beneath it was a small chamber. In the center of this chamber was a large cardboard box which he gripped which he had to lean over to retrieve.

"Be there…"

Nothing. The box was empty. The gift, the newspapers…all of it was gone.

Anger consumed him as he through it aside, cursing up a storm as he did so. Pressing his face to the palms of both hands the appendages of his mouth twitched in frustration. There were more important things of his out there than those things kept in the box…

Suddenly he jumped over, pressing his chest to the ground as he reached into the ground, the three digits of his hand trying to get a hold of what he knew was there. Smaller appendages that sprouted from his chest clung to the edge of the whole as his hand wandered.

Finally in the darkness he felt the shape of a small cube. Excitedly mandibles twitched as he pulled out from the darkness a small cube covered in mud and seemingly unspoiled.

With the container retrieved he retreated to a nearby tent.

Flap closed behind he wiped the mud away from the cube to reveal the purple-hued steel box beneath. Its dirty condition was probably the reason a night squad hadn't found it. What he kept inside was only a few shreds of paper, but one particular piece was the central focus of his mind. Finally he pulled the picture of a family. Two kids, husband and wife…The life he would only get back if he persevered through the dark times.

Tenderly he held the piece to chest, looking around to see if any others were watching him. This wasn't even his tent, so he should probably leave, but he wasn't going to leave the box beneath the ground again…it was the one piece he had left worth holding onto that was still kept within the district itself. This evening he would make sure it made it to a safe location, but until then he had to disappear.

With box in hand, what remained of Wikus Van De Merwe disappeared amidst the crowds and filth of District 10.


	3. Chapter 3:

**Chapter 3**

**Education on Control **

Ndiaye's eyes moved around the gently lit MNU cafeteria, slowly moving down a serving line, stopping to allow a woman to hand him a steaming bowl of potato soap. Each of the employees behind the counters was dark-skinned natives, their eyes wandering in lonely sorrow. Each of their mannerisms almost read the same as slaves, or even prisoners. Actually, when he thought about it, Ndiaye came to the conclusion that being locked in a clean room because of the draw of the almighty dollar was in fact a form of slavery, but only one that people inflicted on them in order to survive.

"How much is it worth?" Ndiaye said when he finally got to the end of the line, a hand reaching to his pocket.

"Can you give me your name, sir?" a kid of his late teens asked. He wore black-rimmed classes, the lens over his right eye being cracked. Hand-me downs from a close relative, no doubt.

"Jarred Ndiaye," he coolly stated, not quite sure why his name was being brought up.

"You can go right along then."

Jarred cocked a brow. "Go along?"

"You're in a special branch of MNU according to the computer. That means free meals." The kid waved to the screen, which already had a profile picture of Ndiaye pulled up.

"Well…thank you." Ndiaye said, slowly walking to a table. Strange that they had known that he would join them…or did they? Did they upload a picture of him without his knowing before or after he had stepped on the helicopter?

Behind him in line Commander Dorian stopped in front of the kid, his expression skewed. He pulled the cap from his head, folding it and tucking it in his belt.

"Excuse me, but I saw a sign on the juice fountain that said it was broken. Would you happen to have any orange juice in, say, one of those little cartons?" He playfully batted his eyelashes in a display of mock-innocence.

"Sorry, Commander Dorian, but the only fruit juice we have in the cafeteria comes from the fountain."

Commander Dorian's hand suddenly grabbed the employee by his black neck-tie and jerked him forward so that he was halfway pulled onto the serving line and the Commander's turkey sandwich. "What do you fucking mean that the only fucking fruit juice is in the fountain? What the fuck are you thinking! When employees come they expect full service, so if your fucking machine doesn't have juice, you'd better have some back-up cases of the shit!"

"S-tu-cas-tu-." The terrified man was incapable of responding when in the grasp of Dorian. His only response was the stutter in an indecipherable fashion.

"I'm out there sweating my balls off and I need my fucking vitamins. The least this goddamn company could do for all my work is making sure I get my fucking nutrition every breakfast, lunch, and dinner!"

"Commander, I'm sorry! The hydraulics just broke an hour ago—if you'd come two hours from now it would have been fixed, I swear!"

"It is fucking lunch time now! I don't come to the fucking cafeteria at three in the afternoon!" He retorted; letting go of the man's tie and letting him fall back behind the counter. "You have juice during meals, not any time between. Learn that if you _dare_ to work in the food industry! It's just proper business ethic, man!"

The few people in the cafeteria of course had all turned around to watch as the event unfolded.

"I can't do anything about it sir!" the man replied on the verge of tears, shivering in fear. "I'll make sure that he teaches me how to fix the pump personally, I swear! You'll never go without your orange juice again, I promise."

"Ah, that's more like it," the commander sneered. "You make sure you fucking have it tomorrow!" Dorian stared down the young man. "Because if it isn't working tomorrow I'm gonna grab some fucking prawn and get them to fucking squeeze my oranges by hand! Don't think I won't—the things will do _anything_ for the right amount of food... And if the fucking pet store is closed I'll just have to settle putting your sorry ass through a grinder _personally_! You understand that?"

"Yes sir!"

"Now then…" Dorian's facial features relaxed, his lips casting a smile to the young man. "Would you be so kind as to give me a bottle of that their orange _Fanta_ you have in that cooler behind you?"

Nervously the employee opened the fridge and handed the beverage to the commander who hastily swiped it from his hand.

"Thank you kindly."

With that Dorian began to advance on Ndiaye's table.

"Wasn't that a tad uncalled for?" Ndiaye said as Dorian joined him at the table. "He's only a kid, you know. Doing what he has to do to survive. He didn't need you throwing out death threats because of something he can't control."

Ndiaye had watched the entire situation unfold, his eyes wide in shock. The commander's constantly changing mood was most disturbing, and managed to scare him greatly…yet at the same time the detective found it fascinating how a man with such a deranged mind was able to function so well in the world.

"Hmmmm?" Taking the first bite from his sandwich the commander looked up. "Come now, Ndiaye. You know human nature better than I. Fear is something that motivates people to do better than they ever thought they were capable of. Before mister no-juice knows it the fear I put in him will make him a better worker, and as such he shall get a raise, or even a promotion."

"You're a very sick mind, commander." Ndiaye tried to pass his insult off as simple banter. "Do not be offended, but there are many ways of motivating, and fear is in no way one of the best. Setting an example for someone, or encouraging them can often do the same and without the mental trauma that accompanies _your_ method."

"Very good, Ndiaye," laughed Dorian. "Perhaps I was a bit harsh on the lad, but can you blame me given my job?" Delicately he tucked a napkin into his shirt's collar before proceeding to unwrap his sandwich.

"How is your job related to your conduct at the serving line?" Ndiaye asked, swirling his spoon around his soap, not quite willing to eat.

"Because of the prawn," he curtly responded. "Let me tell you something, we are not as developed as those sons of bitches…so you're little pussy footed methods are not going to work as far as I see it if I want to get them to obey me…" Another smirk. "I'll make sure to go into detail about my _prawn control procedures_ some other time."

_Tell me what I need to know, boys…_

Wikus stared at the armored MNU APC from behind an overturned dumpster. Mandibles twitched as he paid attention to a pair of soldiers who he often had managed to listen in on when he needed news on the MNU's military actions. Information was so very scarce to him, but he amazingly managed to get by with what little he had. It just took the right amount of snooping around, or occasionally getting dirty.

_What are you up to? _

He was on the verge of starving as of late, but he couldn't think about that. No, what concerned him now was the fact that he'd never seen the last raid coming. Nor did he realize it had occurred until he found his trapdoor slightly obstructed. Something new was going on…something the MNU was trying it's best to remain secretive about. They were trying their best to be quiet and not bring up suspicion, but Wikus knew them well enough to know that this wasn't a protocol raid…not to mention they took away a month's work in that boat.

"So what are you going to be doing on _your_ two days off?" a soldier who Wikus had come to know as _Nathan Alexander_.

"I don't really know what I'm going to do outside of getting the fuck away from this place," replied another soldier— who Wikus now knew by the name of _Quarrel_—replied.

"How about we go to that cinema we like visiting so much outside the district?" Alexander inquired. "I heard tonight they're showing John Carpenter's _The Thing_."

"That is a good movie that boasts some amazing stop-motion animation, but I have to say it won't get me into driving up there tonight. As good as a movie sounds I really want to _avoid _Commander Dorian." Quarrel replied, gently lifting his gun to check its sight. "Heard he was catching the screening this evening—I deal enough with him on the job to waste any leisure time."

"Ah, too right—bastard's crazier than a snowstorm in the desert, but honestly at the theater he is…well relaxed would be a bad term to use, but not like he is during the day." Alexander laughed. "You heard about his night time snooping around the District the other day, didn't you?"

Mandibles twitched, arching up in interest as Wikus leaned forward a bit to get a better look at them as they spoke. Raising an eye to a peephole he watched, not entirely sure why he felt inclined to see them talk all the time. Maybe it was his mind trying to fill the void in his life since he could no longer personally engage in such conversations. Being human in mind had made him an outcast within the district. As he had written in his journal "_Even the bottom of society can find things to separate each other_." Of course, they still had been kind enough not to turn him to the MNU, so for that he was forever grateful.

"Dorian just came on down tearing all this shit up in this side of the district. Heard he found something interesting and went off to get some sort of fucking detective to look over it."

_It's __**always**__ Dorian, _Wikus cursed to himself. The commander certainly had a reputation unlike any other human in the minds of most of District 10's alien community. A mentally unstable friend of Koobus Venter the man was dead set on some sort of distorted revenge fantasy—or so Wikus had gathered from a few, _brief _encounters with the man. The one time he had met Dorian it had nearly resulted in a broken wrist when the man hadn't liked the tone of Wikus' voice (of course, thankfully he had no idea who Wikus was). Dorian was worth avoiding, and everyone living in the district knew this all too well…and that included the MNU soldiers themselves. Though he hadn't killed any of them, broken bones had been attributed to his bursts of anger.

_Commander Luke_ _Dorian…Fuck. As likely to bash your eyes in with a toothbrush as he is to hand you a sweetie_, Wikus thought. _MNU is really desperate to keep order if they're going to let him stick around. _After the mothership had left the MNU had to fight desperately to keep rebelling prawn back. Along with heavier weapons Commander Dorian was one of the things they brought that almost single-handedly kept a full-blown war from happening.

"Why on Earth does he need a fucking detective to capture a prawn?" another soldier asked. "Man would only need to demand the prawn to turn this one in and they'd do it without hesitation."

Cringing Wikus knew that was probably true. So long as Dorian didn't wind up alone and out in the open like Venter had no man or prawn was going to question, or oppose him at risk of a brutal…punishment.

"I heard it was a special prawn. He wants to personally work with the detective in finding him." Quarrel leaned forward to the small group that had gathered to listen to the stories. "We all know what he did to Venter's killers, right?" Unanimous head nods followed. "Well, I 'eard that there's one more prawn that he missed—one that has hidden itself for this entire time, but now he wants to finish it. Complete his little epic of avenging his friend."

Wikus flinched, retreating quietly from the dumpster, getting far away from the soldiers with the hope they hadn't heard his retreat.

_Fucking shit! _Wikus had to learn more on this matter! He had to be prepared for the worst, especially if Dorian was actually trying to find him. The fear of the day Dorian came for him was always present, but he did have plans for hiding himself away. Commander Dorian of the MNU was certainly someone Wikus was certain he'd never forget so long as he lived. He didn't kill quite as many prawns as the Venter had before him, but his cruelty was certainly more prominent…As was his deranged personality.

_Need to get out of the district for awhile…really could use a vacation. _

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Why exactly has your company hired me for this task?" Ndiaye asked Dorian as he was being lead up a flight of stairs. "I know nothing of prawn culture, so your employers have me at a bit of a disadvantage down here."

"Because you're the best there is to be found willing to do the job," the commander replied. "You saw the boat and the newspaper. We thought such relative items would be a good starting point for you when you start your investigation tomorrow."

Ndiaye nodded. "So how is it that you heard about me?"

"Because of the Dalton case," he replied curtly. "You found a man lost in the wilderness because of a pair of shoes and a pack of cigarettes. Needless to say, you impressed us. You're adaptability is iconic in the field."

"Well, commander, it really wasn't all that difficult once you applied what such simple man's interests would say about his route…"

"See, that's the kind of smart guy stuff I want in this investigation!" Dorian exclaimed with bellowing laughter.

Turning the key to a door he led Ndiaye into an empty, spacious office space. He motioned Ndiaye to a single desk "Give us a call and we can get you any good you want, be it chalkboards, laptops, pens, pencils, or condoms—whatever you need to get the job done is fine by us!"

Setting his stuff down Ndiaye looked around the room, blinking wearily. "And what do you ask of me in return?"

He turned around to find a small, round man who held a digital camera pointed in his face. Ndiaye had failed to notice the man when he had entered the room and he instantly felt insecure in regards to the situation.

"You can start by giving a nice and formal hello to your new family here at MNU for the website," laughed Dorian. "It's just a nice way of letting everyone know who you are. Now sit your ass down and let's get to the questioning and answering!"

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**Author Acknowledgement****: **Thank you Hans Zimmer for the amazing Black Hawk Down soundtrack—always an inspiration for when writing stories of this nature.I shall also acknowledge all those who have fav'd this fic, watched it, or simply dropped their 2 cent by providing a constructive review. I strive to bring joy to all who read my work!

Okay, enough of my personal thoughts for now. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4: Somewhere in the Night

**Spoiler Warning: **Contains brief-spoilers of _John Carpenter's __**The Thing**_

**Chapter 4**

**Somewhere in the Night**

_Somewhere in the night…_

_In an office_

_Work is done._

_In a suburb home_

_A wife awaits her husband's return_

_Far from the city_

_The beast shall let his cares loose _

_In gloom and despair…_

_A husband waits for redemption. _

The _New York Times_. Long columns of text written in the English language. Pictures that took up spacious amounts of each page. It was unlike any paper Ndiaye had ever purchased in his own country. The writing was crisp, polished, edited, and most importantly well-researched—at least compared to the papers he was accustomed to. He had to keep his curiosity on hold for the moment for he did desire to read the American paper; had to remember that this was evidence in a case, and needed to be treated as such.

"Around and around you go, where you stop…" he traced a finger along the letters of the paper, finding that certain words had been underlined in blue ink, "nobody knows."

Now alone in an office Ndiaye was in his natural habitat. Large rimmed glasses rested in the bridge of his noise, the lenses being very large for his eyes. He put a small, blank tape into his handheld audio recorder which was one of the conveniences he had taken from his office before leaving and 'clicked' it to its record mode. Softly his latex-gloved hands ran over the crumpled paper which now was stretched out across a table beside his desk.

"This is Jarred Ndiaye, currently stationed in MNU headquarters in the heart of Johannesburg, South Africa," He formally began his recording. "Evidence piece number-1 of Jarred Ndiaye's prawn case: One copy of The New York Times, dated October 10th, 2010. Most of the paper is skewed, or crumpled. A few corners are ripped, but given the condition of the slums in District 10 the piece is surprisingly intact and completely legible. The main article in this paper seems to be focused not on the going abouts of South Africa, but of the rainforests in South America; centered on the deforestation and endangered species."

Eyes scanned the document, the recorder put on hold for a few seconds as Ndiaye found the next place for him to jump from in his analysis. "The question I now face is why and alien would want this, or even read it…in fact, even though the prawn understand our spoken language I am not sure if they are literate in any text outside of their own," Ndiaye made sure to write a note on the side of his booklet that read '_Can prawn read the English language?'_ as he continued his dialogue. "Perhaps it is only the pictures that interested the creature, but I am going to _assume_ that _this prawn_ is well capable of reading for the sake of the case at hand." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. "So why would a prawn be interested in the happenings outside its immediate environment? Does it want to learn more about the planet, and if so, why? Do they want to know more about our planet in order to compile intelligence for a future invasion? Or is this innocent curiosity? Whatever the cause, the first locations I should look into are nearby information centers that are within walking distance of District 10."

The recorder was turned off, the paper returned carefully to evidence. Next up was a collection of three MNU stamped company pens—those cheap, plastic ballpoint pens that companies essentially throw at their employees and visitors like party favors.

"I wonder if your lot has a saying similar to our own _the pen is mightier than the sword_," Ndiaye said to himself with a smile as he imagined one of the alien's trying to grip such a small utensil with their clumsy, large fingered hands. "Perhaps this is a new way of rebelling—a knowledgeable revolution, or simply a lonely soul writing his troubles away."

One of them was broken in half, the others cracked and worn out. Upon testing each pen on a blank sheet of paper Ndiaye discovered they were all dry. Whatever he thought about their hands it was clear that they were well capable of using a pen.

"I'm sure that the aliens have a writing system—this one has certainly been writing a lot…or they drink ink. Either way this isn't much help unless I know what 'e was writing."

Ndiaye leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes in thought.

"Tomorrow I shall go to District 10 and look for more clues- get a better understanding of what it is that this prawn lives like. I'll request some maps, a white board, and proper files on prawn behavior from my hosts here."

With that Ndiaye sighed, turning the recorder off, but he did not leave the building for he still had no place to sleep.

"I don't know who you are, nor do I understand _what_ you are, but I will find you…"

On his chair he would continue to work with the given evidence, trying to find any furtive clues that could give him a better lead on the prawn's location, or general lifestyle. The only way he could handle this case was if he concentrated on treating it the same as a human case.

He would work in the office until he felt asleep on his reclining chair.

"Where are you?" a woman asks the wind.

Alone she stood waiting and for what she waits even she has no clue. Not once has one heard her laughter since he vanished. Her lips constantly shiver in the pain of thought, her own children being thrust away by her gauche behavior when in the presence of others. The ignominy Tanya Van De Merwe had suffered during the last year had been near unbearable as reports of what he had and had not done continued to be a topic of speculation. Everyday her husband did not return she further ostracized herself from the surrounding world. She had yet to give up on the man she loved, though her heart was very heavy. Even with the copious amount of gifts she believed to have been given her by a furtive Wikus, it was still the letter of his hopeful promise that kept her waiting. In her pocket she always kept this note for it was the one true shred of hope that he still lived. She refused to share it with even her closest friends, or her children.

Softly she reached for it again, needing to read it again.

_Dearest Tanya, _

_I must go away. Far away, and for the exact time I do not know. You will not be seeing me during this time, and if you do you shan't recognize me. What has happened is that I have been cursed with an extended punishment for my own curiosity. Just remember that no one shall ever replace your presence in my heart, and that so long as I live my only thoughts shall be of returning to you. All I ask in return for my devotion is the hope that you shall remain waiting for me…just tell the kids that I'm away on business and that I won't be back for a long time. _

_I don't know if I shall ever be capable of writing to you again so I want to make my plight very clear to you in what little time I have. Every passing moment my changes seem to speed, and I don't know how much time I have until writing becomes an inconvenience. For the most part I do not believe I will be able to contact you for a period of three years. It sounds like a long time, I know, but you have to understand that I have no choice in this matter. You just have to believe that I wouldn't do this to you or the kids unless I had to. Know that all of you, the hope of seeing you again will keep me going when any other man would wish his own death. _

_I am still alive and shall return to you. Don't you ever forget that. You know that I would never lie to you so you must know that right now you and the kids are the only ones I can think about. All I could wish is that I could have done a better job…Wish I hadn't done a lot of things, for then I would still be with you right now. But I didn't make those good choices and now you must suffer because of my ignorance. _

_Please remember how sorry I am. _

_Love,_

_Wikus _

Tanya still held to the letter, waiting patiently for Wikus' return. She knew what had likely happened to her husband from outside sources, but she hadn't cared. If only she could see him as he was now and tell him that she didn't care about what had happened to him, so long as he would stand by her side during the darkest hours. Someone she could depend on, someone she could confide in—that was all she really wanted.

Looking up to the sky she felt a tear roll down the side of her cheek. The empty, vast space of the sky reflected her mood well: vacant. Once Wikus had whispered a song in her ear when she had felt bad about how meaningless she was compared to the universe, but she did not remember the name of the song, or even the original artist who had performed it. All she remembered was that Wikus knew it, and that it was a soft, gentle melody-like tune that could drift her to sleep.

"Do you still watch the stars…Wikus?" Tanya asked. "Do you remember the song you used to softly speak? I dearly hope you do…I need the sleep."

"We'd better be getting there on time!" Commander Dorian's voice shouted.

At a surprisingly fast speed an armored MNU service vehicle moved down the high way in the direction of District 10. Music softly played from its radio as a few soldiers, who included Commander Dorian seemed to be relaxed. They were all on their way to a weekly commune between MNU employees stationed within the District that took place in a small cinema not far from the place.

"We'll make it, just relax, commander," the driver replied.

Dorian sat in the back of the armored vehicle that moved down the urban road, still somewhat disappointed that Ndiaye had chosen not to join him for this social event. He had now switched from his military guise to a common set of slacks and a light-blue dress shirt and a black tie snugly tied around his neck; however the business casual attire was interrupted by the holstered berretta at his side, and the knife tied his sheen.

After work hours mood changes came quickly for Dorian, but they were mostly for the better. Even a man such as himself had his quiet, docile moments. In the back of the car his eyes were half-lidded in a contented state as the music gently played around him…then came the time that the radio station changed the channel.

_Is this the real life-  
Is this just fantasy-  
Caught in a landslide-  
No escape from reality-  
Open your eyes  
Look up to the skies and see-_

"Oh God **yes**!" At the first note of the piano opening for the song the commander's hand suddenly swatted the back of the driver's head. "What the fuck are you doing? When _Queen_ is on the fucking radio you crank that shit UP!"

"Yes sir!" the driver responded, hand instantly gripping the dial for the car's speakers to appease the commander.

All the other men in the vehicle were now quiet. Staring over at Dorian some of them laughed while others seemed a tad nervous whenever he raised his voice.

"Yes, that's the way music is meant to be heard," Dorian calmly stated as the sound began cause vibrations to circulate the vehicle's interior. "In music, you know, man finds his greatest escape from reality. It can _fuel_ every passion; every moment of your life! The world would be nothing without the sensationalism that is music."

_Mama, just killed a man,  
Put a gun against his head,  
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead,_

"I can't hear you, sir!" shouted the driver.

"Yeah, neither can we," another man stated sarcastically.

They had all heard Dorian's ramblings and muses before.

"Never mind! I'm sure a ruffian such as you wouldn't understand the sheer force of music." Dorian responded, face contorted in anger. "Not a single person out here who understands maturity. The entire lot of ya': Common gun for hire! Fucking mercenaries!"

_Too late, my time has come,  
Sends shivers down my spine-  
Body's aching all the time,  
Goodbye everybody-I've got to go-  
Gotta' leave you all behind and face the truth-_

"Still can't hear you!" the driver said, but this time using sarcasm, for he had heard the last part of the commander's last response.

"Cheeky bastard!" Dorian shouted, his face suddenly softening as he began to laugh.

_Mama ooo- (any way the wind blows)  
I don't want to die,  
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all-_

"You going to act like this during the movie?" A soldier timidly asked, his friends laughing. After the initial rage of Dorian he usually was more for bantering when he was off duty.

The song had now begun its instrumental portion.

"No, because during a movie you are suppose to be silent," Dorian bellowed. "And you can bet if any of you peckerwoods talk during the movie you'll be talking to me outside."

"And you know the commander," a black soldier said, "When he's outside it don't matter what the fuck he has on—he's all business!" More laughter was caused by this remark; primarily coming from Dorian himself.

_I see a little silhouetto of a man,  
Scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the fandango-  
Thunderbolt and lightning-very very frightening me-_

"Now shut your filthy trap! This is my fucking jam!" Dorian shouted with a laugh. "Why don't you all just sing along with me now?"

_Galileo,galileo,  
Galileo galileo  
Galileo figaro-magnifico-_

In the darkness of the theater the dirty screen showed the image of a dog lying down on a straw covered floor, its eyes intensely looking forward. Other dogs were present and they began to bark at this solemn-eyed dog. Suddenly the strange dog began to snarl, blood flowing from its maw. Without warning the flesh of its head peeled back in four separate directions! Its skull-like head began to scream in alien howls while its body continued to pulsate and distort itself into an indiscernible mass of writhing flesh, small, frail tentacles lashing from its body and capturing the other dogs within the kennel, as others still tried to escape _The Thing_.

In front of the screen MNU employees and some casual citizens sat mesmerized, or simply entertained by the disturbing 80s classic horror film. While some flinched in disgust others would crack jokes with their neighbors, but in the end all of them were having a good time. That is what this theater was all about: getting away from it all and having a good time with friends after a hard week's work.

From the ceiling of the small cinema none of the MNU soldiers, or civilians could notices that one panel had been removed. From the black two, curious yellow eyes watched the soldiers as they all stared intently at the screen.

"Welcome back, Dorian," the prawn clicked softly, locating the commander in the middle row of the theater. "I won't disturb you…just…enjoy your show…"

Wikus had been using the unused portion of the cinema as an information center for some time, and so far hadn't had much issue. MNU officers seemed to get loose tongued about operations when they were in social situations. This meant on such movie nights he could put a good ear into their conversations…But most important about this building was its technology.

To his right was a laptop he had stolen back in Johannesburg that was now plugged into a system he had rigged himself. From his first days he knew he wasn't going to be getting anywhere if he didn't have a way to get recent information, but he also had to use the device sparingly. He rarely came to this hideout because of the fact that it was such a large social center for off-duty MNU. The last thing he wanted to have happen was losing his last safe room away from the District, and his one connection to the modern, human world. Visits were usually once a month.

_Now, what about this detective…_

Turning round he crouched over the screen which had opened to a small, company blog where he currently had a video loading. Seeing that it was finished his hand clumsily gripped a mouse, positioning it to press the '_play_' button.

A black man sitting behind a desk suddenly appeared, a voice asking a question.

"So what do you do, Mister Ndiaye?"

The young black man had adorned a pair of wide-brimmed glasses, which he nervously adjusted while in the camera light. "Well…I guess you could say I find…people…that would be what I do." There was nervous uncertainty in his voice.

He seemed to be well-educated enough, but also nervous. Was the MNU forcing him to work, or was speaking on camera not his ideal social position? Wikus couldn't tell, but he knew how awkward interviews could become…

"So how does that give you relation to us here at MNU?"

"Ummmm…not sure if I'm allowed to say." He adjusted his glasses, eyes shifting about.

"Oh yes you can!" A third voice interrupted, which Wikus recognized as Dorian. "All's fair when among your friends!"

"All right…I'm looking for a prawn…"

Wikus bent his head down on his right hand, mandibles fidgeting a bit in response to the words. _Are you now?_

"Why hire you to find a prawn, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I guess because…Well, the evidence I was given to find the prawn with was very…human, to say the least," Ndiaye said, smiling nervously.

Wikus quickly stopped the video, scoffing a bit at the thin detective's image.

_So they haven't given up on their search y yet…_

He was going to have to keep an eye out for this man.

_I'll spend the night here_, he thought to himself. _"Over the next several nights I'll try transferring anything I have that could be useful to __**this**__ man. _

Wikus looked down from the ceiling again, seeing the casually dressed Dorian grinning whilst gorging himself on a tub of popcorn. The man loved a good spectacle of violence. It wouldn't surprise Wikus if some of the man's interrogation techniques had been derived from things that came straight from horror cinema.

"You will _not_ kill _**me**_," Wikus spoke softly before covering the hole again.

-------

_Bohemian Rhapsody_ lyrics © Queen

_John Carpenter's__** The Thing**_ © John Carpenter, and 1982 _Universal Studios_


End file.
